


Roses Aren't Red and Violets Aren't Blue

by Sorted



Series: Dorian Pavus Cannot Be Troped [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorted/pseuds/Sorted
Summary: Two worlds tearing them apart, Tevinter and Qunari, with only......Hanahaki Disease to bring them together.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Series: Dorian Pavus Cannot Be Troped [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442881
Comments: 57
Kudos: 144





	Roses Aren't Red and Violets Aren't Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [willtreaty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willtreaty/pseuds/willtreaty) for the prompt of Hanahaki disease, and then for helpfully explaining what the fuck. This may be one of the weirdest things the internet has ever coughed up. *snort*

Just south of the Tevinter border, Bull called a halt for the night and had the Chargers make camp. They were on their way to a new job, and they often took this road through Nevarra. Even if they had work up in the Anderfels, they’d have taken this road because The Iron Bull couldn’t cross through Tevinter, and certain of the Chargers weren’t exactly safe there either. Bull had noticed this spot the last time through and picked it out as a good camp next time, if they arrived near dusk.

This time, it was near dusk. Krem started barking the usual orders for setting up camp, and Bull pulled off some of his heavier armor and strolled over to some bushes to take a piss. Not that the Chargers were a shy bunch, but Skinner always got this funny stare whenever vulnerable appendages were in view, and she’d start idly twirling her favorite knife.

So Bull went behind a gorgeous lilac bush in full bloom and loosened his pants.

_Maker, that’s not the sort of thing I was hoping to see today._

Bull froze mid-piss and glanced around for the unfamiliar voice. His senses went to high alert at once; he hadn’t seen any traces of others around. As he turned…

_Ah, kaffas! Mind where you’re pointing that! I have roots over here, and Maker help you if you get that on any of my leaves!_

Some might have remained confused a little longer. Qunari, though, had excellent directional hearing, and Bull turned—his head only—to stare at the lilac bush as his piss trickled to an end. “Uh. Talking lilac?”

_Yes, will wonders never cease. Would you mind terribly putting **that** away now?_

The voice, testy and sarcastic, had _definitely_ come straight from the lilac.

Bull tucked his dick away.

**_Thank_ ** _you. Now off you go, and kindly tell the rest of your band to designate a different line of trees for their lavatory. ****_

Bull stared at the lilac for another second, then hollered, “Dalish!”

“Aye?” hollered back from the camp.

“C’mere!”

A minute later, Dalish strolled up, in no fucking hurry. “Aye, Chief?”

Bull cleared his throat. “Uh, Lilac, this is Dalish. Dalish, Lilac.”

“What?”

_Charmed._

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s a talking lilac, Dalish. Tell me it’s not a demon.”

_What!?_

“Ohhh. And you’re asking _me_ because the Dalish are known to talk to trees, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the reason. Can you tell if it’s a demon or not?”

 _I most certainly am not a demon!_ the lilac huffed. _Why would a demon possess a plant at all?_

“There are Sylvans,” Bull pointed out. There was a pause.

_…All right, point taken. Though I would still insist that there are no recorded cases of **lilacs** being demon-possessed._

“I wouldn’t know, I’m not up on this stuff,” Bull shrugged. “I’m just asking for a professional assessment here to figure out what you are.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

_Fair enough. Go on, then—tell him what I am._

Dalish glanced up at Bull. “I dunno.”

“Eh?”

_What? What do you mean you don’t know! What sort of mage are you—_

“I’m _not_ a mage!”

 _Don’t be a ninny_ , the lilac all but snorted. _I may be in a rather compromised form, but I still have all my senses, and an enchanter of my caliber could hardly fail to recognize magic when I see it. Well—perceive it. I don’t have eyes anymore._

Bull sucked at a tooth. “You’re an enchanter?” They weren’t in Tevinter, but they weren’t far from the border, either… “You a Vint?”

A sound like a sigh, like a wind through branches. _Allow me to properly introduce myself. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. Presently in the form of_ Syringa vulgaris; _or, as you put it, a lilac._

Dalish winced. “A magister. And a lilac. A lilac-magister. Rocky’s allergic to one, Skinner to the other.”

With a put-upon tone, the Dorian the Lilac answered, _All right, I’ll say this once—I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium._

“House Pavus is, though,” Bull observed. “They have a seat.”

 _My father’s._ Dorian the Lilac’s tone shifted. _Rather knowledgeable for a traveling ruffian, aren’t you?_

“Yeah, _I’m_ the unusual one here,” Bull mumbled.

“Who turned you into a lilac, Magister?” Dalish prodded.

 _No one at all,_ Dorian the Lilac answered in an offended tone. _As if the enchanter exists who could turn **me** into a plant against my will. Ha!_

“Good for you then, ser,” she said, turning to go. “I’m hungry, Chief.”

“Dalish! We gotta—”

“I can’t fix him, don’t know how he got like that, but he’s no demon, I think, so let’s eat so we can sleep.” And off she went back to camp.

“Son of a—”

 _Well, she’s right enough,_ Dorian the Lilac sighed. _You cannot do anything for me, I’m afraid. Kind of you to think of it, but I would prefer it if you would simply express your kindness by **not** pissing on me._

Bull sighed, scratching his horn. “Nobody’ll piss here. But hey—if you’re a magister’s son, how’d an altus end up _here?_ …As a lilac,” he added. That was, after all, probably the more important question.

 _Oh, well, as to that, I was leaving Tevinter. And regarding my choice of plant, I was initially inclined toward roses, but as it turns out the soil here is a bit too alkaline for roses, and there are quite a few deer. I prefer not to be chewed to bits. Thus, my second choice—_ Syringa vulgaris.

“Sure, good to know, but I mean, why were you leaving Tevinter and why’d you turn into a plant at all?”

_Why should I tell you that?_

“What?”

Dorian the Lilac snorted again. _I may be a flowering shrub, but I can still have my secrets, can’t I?_

Bull stared at Dorian the Lilac for a long moment, jaw slightly agape. Finally, he relented. “All right, fine. If that’s the way you wanna play it, Vint, knock yourself out. I’m sure it’s real fun being a plant.”

 _Tolerably better than some other fates_ , the voice murmured, but Bull didn’t nag for more details this time. He parted ways with the…lilac, and returned to camp.

Bull determined not to worry about the not-demon tree and focused on the Chargers and their camp routine. However, after eating and giving each other shit for a while, when the others filtered away to their tents, Bull took his flask and went for a walk, and ended up back by the talking lilac. He settled himself down on a fallen log with a sigh. “Hey. You sleeping?”

 _Trees do not actually sleep,_ Dorian the Lilac answered him. _Though they do experience a period of semi-dormancy without sunlight. You might compare it to resting, but my consciousness is still here. I do not require sleep in this form._

“Must be boring. Being a tree.”

 _Intensely_. There was sharp agreement in the tone. _You have **no** idea._

“How are you talking?”

_I beg your pardon?_

“I mean, you don’t have a mouth, so where’s your voice coming from?”

There was a pause. _What an excellent question,_ Dorian the Lilac finally answered. _I never considered it. I must have made a provision in the spell somehow to allow telepathic auditory transmission, but I did it unconsciously. I had…other things on my mind, at the time. Yet I must have framed the spell to preserve a form of speech for myself, knowing that being without it would be intolerable._ There was another short pause. Then Dorian the Lilac exclaimed, _What a prodigy I am!_

Bull blinked. “Yeah. First talking lilac ever. I agree.”

_You’re a bit out of the common way yourself, aren’t you?_

“What do you mean?”

_Well, I don’t have eyes, so it’s difficult to describe this, but I still have a sense of perception, and—because I am amazing in all respects—my sense of perception is sharp enough that I can tell you’re a Qunari. I also perceive that none of your traveling companions are Qunari, the elf earlier called you ‘Chief,’ and there has been ample talk among your band to inform me that you are mercenaries. Yet you recognized the name of House Pavus and knew that they hold a seat in the Magisterium. Pray tell, what sort of mercenary are you?_

Bull swallowed his alcohol contemplatively. “The kind that gets around.”

 _The Ben-Hassrath do, indeed, ‘get around,’_ Dorian the Lilac observed dryly.

“Hey now, that’s a bit much.”

_Not at all. I think that’s the most logical explanation. Spies are as common as ants._

“I guess in your world they were, altus. But we’re not in Minrathous here.”

_As if that matters to the Ben-Hassrath._

“I’m just saying, maybe you’re paranoid.”

_I notice you haven’t directly said, ‘I am not Ben-Hassrath’ yet._

Bull drank again. “I could. Would it change your mind if I did?”

_Indeed not._

“Then I won’t bother,” he shrugged. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your deductions to yourself.”

_I swear to do so._

He studied the moonlit lilac. “That’s very cooperative of you.”

Another sighing sound. _I am completely defenseless and in possession of a secret. You could protect your secret with the application of a torch. Quite simple._

“I guess.” Bull hadn’t quite gotten that far. “Or I could just not come by here again.”

 _Threatening me with isolation? You’re horrid!_ There was an amused tone to Dorian the Lilac’s voice as he said it, though.

Bull grinned. “Never had an altus want me around before.”

_Given my situation, perhaps you can guess why I’m not selective with companionship._

“Yeah. How long have you been like this?”

_Not terribly long. I’ve only experienced one winter as a tree. Though that was enough that I’m already dreading the next one._

“Can’t you change back?”

Dorian the Lilac hummed. _I am certainly capable of reversing my own spell, even in this form. However, I was terminally ill and at death’s door when I did this, and if I return to human form, I will probably not last another day. Thus, as agonizingly dull as a tree’s life is, and as miserable as winter may be, I prefer to survive._

Bull blew out a breath. “I guess there’s no cure for whatever you had, if even _your_ family couldn’t fix it.”

_Quite so. There is no cure._

“That sucks.”

_Succinctly and accurately put._

Bull drank a bit more. “I’d probably rather die.”

_Than live as a tree?_

“Yeah. The boredom would be worse than death. At least I think so.”

_There’s certainly something to be said for that._

“But here you are. Still.”

There was a long pause. _I must survive._

“Yeah? Got people who need you? Daddy’s heir?”

 _That isn’t it._ A pause. _I mean, that’s true, but that isn’t why._

“All right. Why live like this, then?”

Finally: _To spite someone._

Bull considered that. “You’re a pretty vindictive guy, altus.”

Dorian the Lilac snorted again. _You could also say I have a strong sense of justice and an iron will._

Bull laughed aloud. “All right, let’s put it like that.”

\--

Bull stayed up late talking to Dorian the Lilac. Dorian had a constant “view” of a well-traveled road, and although Bull didn’t make a point of saying so, he had reasons to gather as much information as possible. In exchange, Dorian the Lilac was _bored_ , and Bull had _stories_. He took his shift on watch near enough to Dorian the Lilac that they could continue their conversation, and found that having a tree to talk to was a good way to stay awake on watch. Eventually, Bull turned in for a few hours of sleep.

The Chargers broke camp in the morning, but Bull made time to stop by Dorian the Lilac again.

 _You’re leaving, I see._ Was that a note of dejection? Bull grinned to himself. He was pretty damn good at reading people if he could even read them when they were _trees_.

“Yeah, got places to be. Jobs to do. Gotta head out.”

 _Naturally_.

He hummed. “We’ll probably be coming back this way in a couple weeks, though.”

 _Will you?_ That was _definitely_ a bit of hopefulness in Dorian the Lilac’s tone.

Bull nodded. “Probably.”

_Well. I’ll be here. Should you decide to camp here again._

And _that_ was a suppressed smile. Bull wondered how a voice could smile without a face. Then he thought of Dorian the Lilac facing the next couple weeks just doing nothing here by the roadside waiting for them to come back and talk to him again and figured _Yeah. In some situations…_

“See you in a few weeks, Dorian,” he said, and left it at that.

\--

A few weeks later, true to his word, Bull passed that way again. It was a couple hours before dusk, unfortunately—but the Chargers made it a short day and camped there anyway.

No matter how certain Bull was about his own memory, it felt incredibly weird to walk up to a lilac bush and say, “Hey, Dorian! Still here, huh?”

 _Ben-Hassrath!_ There was an unmistakable joy in the greeting.

“Hey, that’s cold,” Bull answered, grinning nonetheless. “You throw _that_ in my face first thing?”

_Well. You never told me your name._

Bull blinked. “Huh. I didn’t?”

_My memory is impeccable. You didn’t._

“Well, it’s The Iron Bull. _With_ the article.”

_The Iron Bull? Charming. Not exactly trying to downplay your race, I take it?_

“Wouldn’t be much point, with these horns.”

_Fair enough. Come, sit. Tell me all about where you’ve been and how your work fared._

So Bull did. He lay on his back in the grass with his head under the lilac branches, in the shade, and talked about the last job. He talked until dinner, and when Krem got tired of calling him and getting “Yeah, just a minute!” for an answer, he finally sent Stitches with Bull’s stew.

“Hey, Stitches, wait a second. Dorian, what was the disease you had?”

_…Why?_

“Because Stitches is my medic. He might know something about it.”

“I doubt _that_ , Chief.” Bull had told the company all about Dorian the Lilac since their last time here, and they knew he was an altus. “If his family couldn’t help him, there’s no way I can.”

“Come on, you’re Fereldan. You have weird medicinal plants down there that don’t grow up here.”

_He’s quite right, The Iron Bull. My family was more than capable of sending for medicine from Fereldan, had there been any._

“See?” Stitches grunted, and he went back to camp.

“Now look—you’ve offended him.”

 _You were the one to bring it up. And I was only agreeing with him_.

“He likes to be consulted,” Bull shrugged, settling down with his stew. “What _was_ your sickness, anyway?”

_It was terminal._

“Yeah, you said.” Bull left a little silence, there. That sometimes got people talking more than repeatedly asking did.

After a pause. _…I had heard that there was a healer in Val Royeaux who had successfully treated it. That is the reason for my present location. I needed to leave Tevinter anyway, so I went South in a last effort to reach Orlais. But I only made it this far._

“Orlais?” Bull hummed. “We could head down to Orlais. We have contacts down there. Wouldn’t be hard to find a job worth the trip. And we could stop by Val Royeaux and ask around, find this healer for you. At least find out what the deal is.”

After another pause, with hesitation: _Could you? That’s…well._ Then, the tone shifted, becoming more sarcastic. _I suppose I’d owe you a very big favor for even making the effort. That could be quite valuable, given who you are, and who I am…or who I would be again, should I actually find a cure._

“Hey.” Bull set his bowl down and stared at the lilac tree as though talking to a person. “Did I say anything about a favor?”

 _I took it as read from your job title_.

He sighed. “All right, but how about we forget that for a bit? I was just offering as a friend.”

_…You **do** know I’m not actually a lilac tree, yes? That I am, in fact, a mage from Tevinter?_

“Sure. I think I prefer that, actually. Might be easier to tell people I’m friends with a Vint than to say I’m friends with a lilac tree.”

_Some would disagree. Your superiors, for example._

“Well, not me. And I mean what I said. If it works out, great, but that doesn’t mean I’d demand a favor in return. Shit, I’d be happy just to get the chance to meet you as _you_ , maybe buy you a drink or two.”

_…I do miss alcohol. Quite horrendously._

“Yeah? You were a pretty good drinker?”

A smirk in the tone: _You may be Qunari, Iron Bull, but even if you were fully twice my size, I suspect you’d struggle to keep up with me_.

Bull grinned. “There you go. Reason enough to look for a healer in Orlais. So what’s your disease and who’s this healer?”

Dorian the Lilac still paused significantly before answering, and when he did, his volume had dropped somewhat. _I don’t know the healer’s name, but if you mention the disease, that should be enough. No one deals with it._

“All right. What is it?” Bull softened his own tone to match. He sensed a delicate subject.

Sure enough, after another long pause: _Hanahaki disease._

Bull blinked. “Isn’t that…?”

_The terminal lung condition that affects those stricken with unrequited love? Yes._

“I was gonna say ‘that weird flower sickness’ but all right.”

_Also accurate._

“Huh.” Bull waited some time, but Dorian the Lilac offered nothing more. Finally: “So what happened there? Who’re you in love with?”

_Someone who doesn’t reciprocate, clearly._

“You sure about that?”

_Yes._

“Did you ask?”

 _I didn’t need to_.

“They might have loved you back, then…”

_He didn’t. Doesn’t._

Bull filed that. _He._ Tevinter, altus, _he_. “Tell me about it.”

_Why?_

Bull shrugged. “No reason. I’ll look for the healer for you either way. And I’m not trying to spy on you, Dorian. It just sounds like you might need to tell the story.”

_I didn’t realize the Ben-Hassrath trained their agents in how to read **trees**._

“When trees are people, I don’t need special training. So who is he?”

Another long, long pause. Then, finally, like a sigh of longing in the lilac branches: _Rilienus._

Bull just settled himself under the lilac tree and listened.

Rilienus was an altus. Rilienus was the most beautiful man in Tevinter, and he was clever, and he was gentle. Dorian didn’t even realize his own feelings until the first time he coughed up a flower petal. He didn’t know what to do. He tried harder to please. He _gave_ more. He started calling Rilienus _amatus_ —once, when they weren’t even in bed. But the flowers kept growing. Dorian was too sick, at times, to attend social functions. It was getting hard to conceal what was really wrong with him from his parents.

_We had agreed to meet after a ball, but I’d fainted and missed the ball. I snuck out anyway and went to find him. I waited in the shadows outside his home. He came home with another altus, and they were talking about me._

“Weren’t you meeting Pavus tonight?” the altus had asked.

“He probably collapsed again. Apparently he’s ill, but no one knows what it is. Father thinks someone infiltrated House Pavus and is poisoning him.”

A giggle. “Say, Rili—what if it’s _Hanahaki?_ ”

Rilienus laughed. “What, Pavus? Don’t be an ass.”

“What if it _is_ , though? We’ve all seen the way he looks at you…”

A smirk. “Well, that’s true. I guess it could be that.”

More laughter. “Poor Pavus. Aren’t you going to go kiss him back to life?”

“Old gods, no! If he dies, it’s his own bloody fault.”

“Technically it would be _yours…_ ”

“Technically it’s still _his_ for falling in love with me like a foppish idiot and I hope it _is_ that! Then I can tell my father I assassinated the heir of House Pavus without even trying!”

“I thought you _liked_ him, Rili!”

“I do like him. He’s great. Best I’ve ever had. But I’m not about to fuck anything up for myself over him, that’s all.”

There was a silence. Bull just looked quietly at Dorian the Lilac. _So you see, I really didn’t need to ask._

“Damn.”

_I left shortly thereafter. I managed to get this far, but the disease was much too advanced already. So, in desperation, I utilized the inherent flower-proclivity of the disease—Hanahaki is a semi-magical condition, after all; that’s why only mages and elves can get it—and I redirected the destructive magic into a transformative spell and turned myself into this lilac tree. Now I no longer have lungs, so the disease can no longer kill me. At least, not in this form. But if I transform back to my human form, I am still afflicted with Hanahaki, and as I mentioned before, I won’t last long._

Bull nodded slowly, listening. This was why the Qunari knew nothing about the disease; he’d only heard of it after he came South. Presumably a Qunari _saarebas_ could get it, but under the Qun, who even knew what romantic love was? “So you still love that guy? Even after he said that stuff?”

Dorian the Lilac made a faint groaning sound. _Don’t try to understand it; it’s the most frightfully illogical thing in the world. I am furious with him, and I **hate** him, and…yes. It’s humiliating to admit, but…yes. I still…well._

Bull sat in silence and wished he had his flask with him, but it was in his pack. He could get up and go get it…maybe he would in a minute. “If we do a job in Orlais, it’ll be about two months before we get back here,” he said. “We’ll have to leave time for a pretty big job, to cover the travel expenses.”

_I can safely promise that I will not go anywhere._

\--

“So, Chief, let me get this straight. We’re going all the way to Val Royeaux and back without a guaranteed job to pay for the trip, so we can look up a healer who might be able to save a magister’s son who is currently rooted in place in Nevarra.” Krem squinted at him. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“That’s what we’re doing, Krem.”

“Why?”

Bull sighed. They were on the road again. He’d barely slept the night before; stayed up for hours talking to Dorian. “Because the guy needs help, and nobody else is gonna do it.”

Rocky grumbled, “Chief’s a real sucker for tough cases, we already know that.”

“Better not recruit that magister,” Skinner hissed under her breath.

Krem just gave him a long look. A while later, when the Chargers had moved on to other topics, Krem said, under his breath, “He’s in love with somebody else, Chief.”

Bull blinked innocently at him. “Yeah? So?”

A sigh. “I guess if you saved him he might feel differently…”

But Bull just laughed. “Nope! I don’t see that happening.”

Another probing look. “You don’t mind?”

Unsure what Krem was getting at, Bull shrugged. “Why would I mind?”

\--

It was no longer the season for lilacs to be in bloom when they got back to Nevarra, but there Dorian was, still covered in fragrant purple blossoms. “Dorian, we’re back! How come you’re still all flowering like this?”

The voice that answered was vibrating with restrained happiness. _Oh, Iron Bull, a pleasure. How have you been, and so forth. Ah, and the flowers—you needn’t ask about that. It’s the illness, I’m afraid. You should see me in winter. Travelers tend to hurry past, fearing whatever magic has caused a lilac to bloom at such a time. I never get the chance to tell them it’s not contagious._

“Yeah, about that. The disease, I mean.” Bull flopped down in the grass. He hadn’t even dropped his pack off by the future site of his tent, yet, or taken off any of his traveling gear. He started unbuckling his weapon harness.

_I take it you have news?_

With a glance at the lilac: “Yeah. It’s not good news. Sorry, Dorian. But if you look at it the right way, it can be a bit funny, at least.”

A breezy sigh. _Well, what, then?_

“We found the healer. She’s not a healer.”

_Isn’t she?_

“She’s more of a prostitute. Bit specialized, but that’s about what it boils down to.”

 _A prosti—_ The lilac groaned slightly. _Vishante kaffas. So that’s what it was._

“Yeah. I guess there was a client once who was getting a little sick. Went to see her. Fell in love with her instead and got over his other problem.”

_You mean he was actually cured? He didn’t just gain a new reason for the disease?_

“Turns out she’s polyamorous by nature, so it really isn’t a problem for her. They say she’s currently in love with twenty-three people, but I don’t know if that’s all true. She set up a specialized establishment all her own, once the word got out. I don’t think she actually has a really credible track record with multiple cures of Hanahaki, but if you’ve got a healer-patient kink, she’s the lady to see in Val Royeaux.”

_Well. So much for that._

“Sorry, Dorian.” Bull pulled his flask from his pack. “Any other ideas?”

_Oh, don’t apologize. **I’m** sorry you took all that trouble and wasted a trip…_

“Wasn’t a waste. Everybody got paid.”

_Even so. I appreciate it. And no, I’m afraid I have no other options to pursue. The healer was already a fool’s dream._

Bull sighed heavily and took a long drink.

_What are you so dissatisfied about?_

He grunted. “I don’t like leaving people in shit situations.”

_I’m afraid there are times when you must._

Scratching at a horn, Bull pondered. Then: “Hey! What if I go kill him?”

_I beg your pardon?_

“Well, if he’s dead, you’ll get over him eventually, right? And it sounds like he deserves it anyway.”

Dorian laughed. _You certainly have an interesting approach to problem-solving. Very novel and innovative._

 __“Yeah? Krem usually tells me to stop trying to solve everything by hitting it, but thanks for seeing it that way.”

_Ah, or I suppose that also explains your idea. I didn’t know this was a pattern with you._

“Pretty much.”

_Well, I fear it won’t work. Lost love can be just as persistent as unrequited love._

“If you say so,” Bull sighed. “I still think it’s worth a shot.”

_Oh yes, murder on the off chance it might accomplish something. What could be wrong with that?_

“Like I said. Sounds like he deserves it.”

_He does, a bit. And I won’t pretend I have never fantasized about killing him while sitting here flowering alone in crushing boredom. But…well. I don’t truly wish for that._

“You’re not still hoping he’ll come around, are you?” There was no immediate reply. In the silence, Bull arched what used to be an eyebrow at the lilac. “Dorian?”

_Well, what else am I to hope for? It **is** the only known cure._

Bull didn’t really have anything to say to that. _Well, just stop loving the guy_ was what he _wanted_ to say, but he hadn’t been in the South long before he’d learned that _nobody_ responded well to suggestions like that.

Instead, he sighed and took another drink.

 _Maker, I miss alcohol_ , Dorian murmured with a soft rustling.

“You want some?”

_No indeed! I’m a **plant**. It would kill me._

“That’s what I thought. Would have been weird to see a lilac get drunk.”

_I wish I could. It would pass the time. I didn’t know my own good fortune when I was human. I could dispose of days at a time by getting blackout drunk. Or there was always sex. A perfectly wonderful distraction, how I miss it._

“Huh.”

_What?_

Bull shook his head. “Just thinking. Usually, after hearing you say that, I’d offer to scratch that itch for you, no matter who you were. But I don’t know how to go about having sex with a shrub.”

Dorian’s leaves rustled as he laughed. _Don’t trouble yourself trying to devise a way. It isn’t possible for me to experience sexual pleasure in this form. I haven’t any of the necessary anatomy or hormones. All I have are memories of feelings I can no longer process._

“Man,” Bull leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, “that’s real sad. That might be the saddest thing I’ve heard from you yet, Dorian.”

_I quite understand. I don’t entirely agree, but I can appreciate the sympathy._

Bull sorted this out carefully. “What, is your heartache worse? Worse than life without sex? Really?”

In a bemused tone: _Essentially_.

Blowing out a breath, “Hang in there, big guy. We’ll keep trying to think of something.”

\--

The Chargers had to move on. It was tough, but they had work to do, and they couldn’t just camp on the side of the road for days—or more—on end.

Actually, moving on was extremely easy for most of the Chargers, but Bull was determined to believe that all his boys were as concerned for Dorian as he was and sorry to leave him like this.

It was almost a month before Bull could find a reason for them to traverse that road again. Krem insisted that they had another job available in Antiva they could still do—without making a long, expensive trip—but Bull felt strongly that it wasn’t a good job for them, and they had better head back to western Nevarra and check up on Lady What’s-Her-Name and her villa with the spider problem. Krem tried to argue that they could just as well wait for a letter to summon them, as Lady What’s-Her-Name was well able to _write_ and knew how to get them back if she needed them. But to no avail.

Naturally, they took the same east-west road they always did, and camped in their new best camping spot, just south of the Tevinter border, regardless of how many hours of daylight they had left.

Dorian was, again, thrilled to see them—even if he denied it and found ways to be verbally critical. Yet his disembodied voice held a tone that belied all his harsh, aloof words.

Bull tried to get the Chargers to gather around closer to the talking lilac so their banter could include him in the fun, but most of them had either flower pollen allergies or magister-related aggression problems, and it ended up being mostly Bull who again kept Dorian company. He unrolled his bedroll under the stars so that, even when it wasn’t his watch, he didn’t have to leave Dorian alone and go back to his tent.

_Really, Iron Bull, the concern is touching, but you needn’t put yourself to such trouble. Not to mention risk your health, sleeping outside like this. The nights are damp._

__“Hey, you do all right with it.”

_I am presently a **plant**. This is the best possible environment for me. Rest assured, were I in my human form, I would **not** tolerate such a rugged sleeping arrangement with any equanimity._

“Yeah? Guess that makes sense, you being an altus.” Bull shuffled on the ground to get more comfortable. “But me? I’m good with this. You get human again, you can sleep in my tent.”

_…I hadn’t taken you for a sly one._

Bull laughed aloud. “Not what I meant this time, but I’m good either way. You could borrow my tent—with or without me in it.”

A leafy snort. _You don’t even know what I look like_.

Bull blinked and turned his head to regard the lilac, even though he knew that wouldn’t do him any good. Lilacs didn’t have facial expressions; nothing about Dorian’s plant appearance ever changed. “What’s that got to do with it?”

 _You might not find me attractive,_ Dorian shot back. Then, before Bull could maintain his position that looks hardly mattered, he heard a sound like a sort of rustling. Like someone was slightly shaking the tree. When Dorian spoke again, there was badly restrained laughter in his voice. _That is to say, you **would** , but we must at least admit of the hypothetical possibility._

“Yeah?” Bull grinned. “You were hot?”

_‘Devastatingly handsome’ would be more accurate._

“Nice. What did you look like?”

So Bull had a few comfortable drinks while Dorian described his human appearance—which, if accurate, thoroughly justified Dorian’s confidence in himself.

 _And though I am one of the most brilliant scholars of my generation_ , Dorian added, _you mustn’t imagine me as physically weak. I kept quite active—training in combat for duels, riding, and, of course, a busy and athletic sex life. My physique was glorious._

“You really don’t sell yourself short, huh?”

 _I never have, nor ever will_.

“Mmm.” Bull contemplated the image Dorian had painted in his mind. “Yeah, I’d do you.”

 _That was hardly in doubt_ , Dorian declared. _The more pertinent question is whether or not **I** would._

“Hey,” Bull halted in the act of raising his flask to blink woundedly at the lilac bush, “I’m fuckable!” He flexed his arms and chest. “Use your weird-ass magical vision to check _these_ out!”

In a lower, bemused tone: _Oh, I have, actually._

“Yeah?” Bull grinned and took another drink. He had just enough awareness to think, briefly, that it was probably weird to feel flattered because a lilac bush had checked him out. But that thought barely registered. Dorian wasn’t really a lilac bush in Bull’s mind anymore. He was just _Dorian._

_I didn’t mean to disparage your physique. But you **are** Qunari—in all senses of the word. I’ve never slept with a Qunari._

“Mmmm. You saying you wouldn’t?” Bull stretched his arms, displaying. He heard a smile in Dorian’s answer.

_I’m saying I **shouldn’t**. I’d like to think I wouldn’t._

Bull examined this idea, swallowing from his flask again. “You know, I’ve never had sex with a mage.” He chuckled. “Never thought of mages as available for that.”

 _Under the Qun, I imagine they aren’t,_ Dorian answered, a bit quick and sharp. But he quickly lightened his tone. _You should try it. Obviously, I’m not able to supply the experience, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t find a decently talented mage to show you what magic can be used for in bed._

Feeling a little lazy and a little happy from all the _maraas-lok_ , Bull pointed out, “I’ve never had sex with a tree, either. What’s the expression? ‘Two birds with one stone’? Bet I could figure something out.”

Dorian’s leafy-laughing sound washed over him. _I’ve no doubt you could find your own pleasure with literally anything in the Maker’s world, but for my own part in it, I fear such sensations are impossible._

“Can’t feel anything?”

 _Mmmm,_ Dorian hummed, like wind in branches, _I can feel some things, a little. But nothing sexual. For example, in my human form I rather enjoy…_

A momentary pause had Bull glancing at the lilac again, an eager grin spreading over his face. “Yeah? What?”

_Ah. Well, I was trying to find a polite way to say this, but there doesn’t seem to be one._

“Come on, big guy. Dirty doesn’t bother me.”

 _Quite._ A rustling sigh. _Well, I was going to say I enjoy the feeling of a man’s spend upon my skin—anywhere on my skin, really. But as I am now, should you decide to ejaculate on my leaves or anything like that, I might be able to feel it, but it would merely feel unpleasant. An obstruction of the sun’s radiance and the flow of air. I wouldn’t enjoy it._

“Damn,” Bull murmured. “Shame you’re a tree. We could have a lot of fun if you weren’t.”

 _I gathered,_ Dorian replied, with that dry, bemused sarcasm that always made Bull chuckle.

“So you can feel things a little, though?” Bull asked. He leaned over and gently rubbed a hand against the trunk of the lilac. “How about that? Feel that?”

_Oh. Yes, I can feel that._

“Does it feel bad?”

A pause. _…No. No, it does not feel bad. It isn’t interfering with my life functions._

Bull kept stroking the smooth-ish bark. “Feel good?”

Doubtfully: _It isn’t assisting my life functions either, so I cannot say it feels **good** , exactly…_

“Hey, what part of you is this close to?” Bull suddenly asked. “Is this like your feet? …Wait, no, you have roots. Your roots are more like feet.” His hand wandered the base of Dorian’s trunk. “Mmm, waist? Belly? Hips?”

_…Iron Bull._

“Dorian?”

 _It’s my **trunk**_.

“Right, I get that, but I mean—”

_I know what you mean, and I fear you are drunk. I do not currently **have** any of the body parts you mention. That is my trunk, it feels like my trunk, and perhaps you had best go to bed._

Bull sighed. “Damn.”

Amusement entering his tone, Dorian added, _I suppose if it pleases you to imagine that you’re touching my hips, you may continue in your delusion. It does me no harm—as long as you do not ejaculate on my leaves._

“Yeah? You don’t mind me rubbing one out? Because I’m kinda hard, here.”

 _I perceive that. Your pants do little to conceal it._ Then, with a faint rustle: _Don’t mind me, take care of your problem. I ceased to feel awkward about things like this approximately two minutes into my first orgy._

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Bull groaned, sliding a hand into his pants. “How do you feel about sharing that story?”

_What, tell you about my first orgy? To fuel your self-pleasuring?_

“Yeah.” Bull half-smiled, lightly squeezing himself.

Another leafy rustle-laugh. _You brazen lout. You’re unbelievable. Under normal circumstances, you’d be lucky to catch a glimpse of my back from a distance._

“Sure, I know, but—”

_And I was nineteen, and very drunk, so I fear I cannot lead into the story properly because I’m hazy on the details of how it all started. My memory more or less starts when one fellow pushed me down over another man’s lap and entered me from behind._

“Mm, shit…” Bull tightened his fist for a long stroke.

_I was an apprentice, and I **may** have been the instigator who distracted the study group from thaumaturgical relativity…_

Bull groaned.

_…At the very least, I brought most of the alcohol. And once we started, I supplied most of the suggestions. There were six of them. It was lovely. I especially liked the part when two of them got tired of waiting their turn with me and started to fuck each other. Ah, and then when I managed to take two at once, you should have seen how passionately they kissed each other while they were pressed together inside me. I believe I came while watching that. Quite delightful._

Bull was breathing heavily, but he managed to comment, “Damn. You were a wild thing, huh?”

_Exceedingly. Are you going to keep those atrocious pants on, like that?_

“Huh?”

_I simply thought you’d have more room if you got them out of the way._

“You don’t mind?”

_I suggested it, did I not?_

Shrugging, Bull said, “Sure,” and got himself out of his pants.

A wind-rustling sigh. _There was a time I really would have appreciated this view. But don’t let me discourage you. Where was I? Ah yes, the two inside me. You know, combined they were only slightly thicker than you are by yourself._

“Eh, Qunari.”

_I see that. I’m beginning to regret my lack of experience._

“Still available, you know.”

_I fear it’s too late now. But thank you anyway. Well—what else would you like to hear? This is mostly for your benefit, after all._

Working his cock slowly, Bull hummed. “Anything you want to say about it, I guess.”

_Hmm…_

“What other stuff did you like?”

_Well, having six men salivating over me at once was flattering. I like to be admired. And it was challenging to keep up with everything, but I managed quite well, which was satisfying. I am so terribly impressive, after all. And at the same time I liked being a bit overwhelmed. I don’t know that I’d trust myself to an experience like that again—not anymore. But I was young and reckless in those days, and no one actually killed me after all, so it rather worked out._

Bull shook his head. “You Vints.”

_Oh, pardon me. I don’t mean to ruin your enjoyment. Let me see… Speaking of being ejaculated upon, I certainly was on that occasion. Repeatedly. I was quite a mess afterward, what with there being six of them, and all of them going off more than once. And my own mess, of course. I believe I came four times, though I can’t imagine I had much left in me by the last one._

“Mmm.” Bull thumbed the head of his cock. “Bet I could mess you up better than six guys. I can be pretty overwhelming,” he grunted, pushing his hips into his fist, “but I promise not to kill you. And I bet real coin I can get you off more than four times.”

_Braggart._

“No, really!” Bull stroked his cock a little faster. “My record’s sixteen.”

_…You made someone climax sixteen times in one night?_

“Yup!”

_…A man?_

“Oh. …No, that was a woman.”

_Well then._

“Record for a man is…five? Or six…I think six. Dry counts?”

_Very well, it counts._

“Six, then.”

_Impressive._

“Thanks!” Bull shifted his grip so he could put more strength and speed into it. “Bet I could top that orgy for you,” he rumbled.

Leafy laughter. _Well, Iron Bull, if I’m ever able to return to human form, you’re welcome to try. Shall I make a few suggestions?_

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed. “I’m already close. Tell me how you like it…”

_Well, as I said, it’s rather difficult to think in those terms as I am now, without a functioning libido, but taking into account the sorts of things I remember craving…I think I’d like you to ram me up against a wall. Either that or find some way to utterly blanket me with your skin, so that I can feel you with every inch of my body, inside and out. And in either situation, I would want **marks** —as many as you can manage. Also, may I hold on to your horns?_

“Shit yeah, grab ’em, steer with ’em, pull—throw your whole weight on them, I can hold you up.” Bull was jerking himself fast, now, feeling his climax build.

_That would be a challenge—I was no waif. But if you could manage it, I would gladly test your strength. And you should bite me, and I would scream with pleasure. How sharp are your claws?_

Bull panted, “As sharp as you want, big guy.”

_Mm. I want to look like I got **mauled** the next day. I want you to **conquer** me, like a true beast, rough and powerful…_

Bull tensed, grunting, and came hard in his hand. He made certain not to shoot any of it in Dorian’s direction. And Dorian “saw,” and he didn’t stop talking.

_Oh, and that—do **that** inside me, all of it. Claim me, fill me up, shoot it in so deep it’s still dripping out of me hours and hours later…_

Groaning, Bull squeezed himself through the fading dribbles of orgasm. “Shit, Dorian. For having no libido, you can really talk dirty.”

_I have stunning communication skills. You should hear me in Tevene._

Bull laughed. “My Tevene’s a little rusty, but if you’re offering, I’ll brush up on it for next time.”

 _I have no objections._ There was a smile in Dorian’s disembodied voice.

\--

When they again had to break camp and leave, Bull promised to make it a shorter trip this time. Dorian insisted over and over that he didn’t mind, they needn’t trouble themselves on his account, he was accustomed to the situation and really was just grateful for the brief company whenever it was convenient.

_I made my bed, as it were, and here I must remain, rooted in it. It is hardly any responsibility of yours._

But Bull still wasn’t happy about this. “You sure you don’t have any other leads on a cure?”

_None whatsoever, but it’s all right._

Bull was going to ask everyone he met, anyway. “Is there _anything_ we can do for you, before we go?”

_Well, actually…_

“What? What do you need?”

_Do you see that tree over there? The one covered in vines?_

“Yeah…”

_Do you see how the vine has started creeping along the ground?_

“Yeah.”

_Toward me?_

“Yes?”

There was a barky rasp that might have been a throat-clearing sound—had it come from someone equipped with a throat.

“What?”

A breezy sigh. _You might note the condition of the tree itself. The one covered in vines?_

“Uh. It looks pretty?”

_It’s almost entirely **dead** , Iron Bull. That vine is parasitic. Kindly tear it up, burn it, whatever you must do to keep it away from me._

“Oh! Oh shit. It could kill you?”

_It could severely tax my ability to remain alive, that much is certain._

“Got it, Dorian. We’re on it.”

Before hitting the road that day, the Chargers were all recruited into some impromptu gardening—vine-clearing, weeding, and watering.

\--

Krem had things to say—especially after Bull admitted the real reason for the Tevene dictionary he picked up in a bookstore in Antiva.

“Dirty talk, Chief?”

“Yeah. So?”

Krem gave him a long look.

“What?”

Krem had a piece of druffalo jerky in his mouth, slowly chewing one end of it as they rode. He muttered around it, “I get _you_ being into it, but why would _he_ do that?”

Bull shrugged. “He’s nice like that.”

“Isn’t he in love with some other guy?”

“Uh, _yeah_. We’ve been over that part.”

“Huh.”

Bull waited a bit, but when Krem said nothing else, he prompted, “So?”

A frown. “Nice has its limits, Chief. That’s all.”

Bull didn’t really get what Krem meant by that.

\--

The absence was longer than Bull intended it to be. Despite all his efforts, the job was sticky, complicated, and kept finding new ways to drag on and on until the Chargers had been stuck there a good couple weeks longer than they had planned to be. The good news was they got paid extremely well. The bad news was, the Chargers were tired and did _not_ appreciate Bull rushing them along the road back to their middle-of-nowhere camping spot. Bull promised a couple days’ rest to make up for it. No one was happy with that.

“What, camp on the side of the fucking road for a couple days? There’s these things called _towns_ , Chief! How about we rest in one of those!”

Bull couldn’t argue with that. So he just rushed the Chargers along anyway, and told himself maybe he’d put them up in a nearby town and then go back and camp with Dorian by himself. Krem could keep everyone out of trouble.

“Are you _kidding_ me, Chief? And how long to I have to babysit—”

“Hey, Dorian, we’re back!”

_Iron Bull! Vashante kaffas, where have you been? I was half certain you’d finally gotten yourself killed in an improbable and undignified manner!_

Krem threw up his hands and turned back to the main camp.

“Nah, I’m good. Hey, what happened here?” Bull reached for Dorian’s branches in sudden concern. He was looking a bit chopped up, almost none of his flowers were left, and there was one branch on the side that hung down, snapped off and dead.

_Oh, some miserable sap of an Antivan came by and thought a lilac bouquet for his paramour would be just the thing. He wielded his knife rather clumsily, but I survived, as you see._

“Shit,” Bull mumbled, gently exploring the damage. “Does it hurt? Anything I can do?”

_You could prune my dead branch, actually._

“Won’t that hurt?”

_Yes, but it will heal better afterward._

Bull was reluctant to do it. He knew he couldn’t make a quick, clean cut with his knife, and he didn’t have room to swing his axe without chopping most of Dorian down. So he went among the Chargers, bothering everyone to see if anyone had some pruning shears. No one did.

While Bull was nagging Dalish about any “mysterious elven” methods of pruning a tree she might know, he heard a sudden yelp from the tree line. Turning, he saw Krem tossing the dead branch away. He rushed over. “What did you _do?_ ”

“Took care of it,” Krem grunted. “Now stop pestering everyone.”

“Are you all right, Dorian?”

A huffing rustle. _I was startled, that’s all. Please don’t fret, it’s over with now._

“Hey!” Bull snapped, turning on Krem. “How about _checking with me first_ , next time? Before you go hurting defenseless—”

“…Lilac magisters?” Krem supplied, with a flat look.

Bull growled. He was half surprised at himself for it, but the other half of himself wanted to take a swing at Krem, and growling was all he could do to keep himself from knocking the guy over.

 _Iron Bull, really, it’s all right_ , Dorian said again, when Krem was gone and Bull was laying out his bedroll in a sulk. _I’m rid of the dead branch in any case; that was the aim, after all_.

He shot a disgruntled look at Dorian—still raggedy and beat-up looking. That wasn’t Krem’s fault, it was the asshole who came along looking for a free bouquet. But it still bothered him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, as an idea occurred to him, “what if you came with us?”

_I beg your pardon?_

Bull hadn’t thought this through before speaking at all. “I mean, I’ve seen trees in pots. In big, fancy mansions. What if we dug you up and took you with us? I wouldn’t drag you into any fights, so it wouldn’t really be dangerous. We could make room in the supply wagon, and—”

_A moment, please, just one moment. Allow me to clarify—you want to travel around with your mercenary band dragging an enormous, extremely heavy **pot** with a talking tree in it? One which can never be anything other than a huge inconvenience? Is that what you are suggesting?_

Bull sucked a tooth. _Krem’s going to kill me_. “Yeah.”

_…Ah._

“Look, it’s better than leaving you on the side of the road like this!” he defended. “This isn’t just boredom anymore, Dorian, it’s dangerous. It might not be easy, but I’ll feel better if I can at least keep an eye on you. And you won’t be bored anymore. And—and Krem and I won’t have to get into any more fights about traveling back and forth between Antiva and Nevarra all the time.”

In a low murmur: _I wondered if you always traveled this much…_

“We don’t,” Bull admitted. “I mean, we travel, but usually we work our way in one general direction, we don’t bounce back and forth like this. Krem’s been pissed at me.”

_I thought he seemed rather more resentful than usual._

“Yeah.” Bull decided to just put it all out there. “He’s not happy, but I’m worried about you. I like you, Dorian, and this is a shit situation you’re in, and I can’t even help. So—can I at least take you along with us? You never know what weird-ass stuff we’ll run into. Maybe even a cure for…what you’ve got.”

Dorian hesitated before answering. Finally, he said, _You are the chief of your mercenary company, and I understand your men will abide by your decision. However, what you are suggesting would impact their lives, possibly a great deal. Before I agree to inconvenience them, I’d like to have their consent._

Bull nodded. He didn’t usually play leadership quite that democratically, but he could see the sense in it, in this case. “We’ll put it to a vote.”

\--

Bull called a company meeting and explained everything to the Chargers. “The Vint won’t do anything to anyone. He’s a tree right now anyway, he can’t. And nobody will be asked to help take care of him. You can ignore him as much as you like if he comes with us. And,” he nodded at Krem, “we’ll go back to the way we used to move around for jobs. No more long trips back and forth for next to nothing. That’s the deal.”

There was some discussion. A number of doubts were raised. But when it came to the vote, the majority agreed to bringing Dorian along, and the rest accepted their defeat. Bull made Dorian an honorary Charger, and they set about figuring out how to dig him up.

It wasn’t easy. Dorian had a large root system, and he complained bitterly every time they cut one of his roots or jostled a few of his leaves off—that is, until Skinner hissed at him, brandishing a knife in each hand. “Let’s see how neatly your bark comes off, Magister!”

Dorian tried very hard to shut up after that.

In the end, after a huge amount of effort, they “planted” Dorian in the supply wagon, his roots wrapped in a canvas until they could get to a town and find a pot big enough for him. Then they finally got underway. Most of the Chargers kept their distance, so Bull rode with the supply wagon. “How you doing, big guy?”

A weak voice answered him: _I’m feeling a bit dehydrated, faint, sore, and exhausted, if you must know. But I will survive._

Bull had a canteen. He began to lightly water Dorian’s root-ball every ten minutes, faithfully, so that his roots could absorb the water a little at a time and it wouldn’t just drip away and be wasted.

It took three towns before they found one with a potter who had a vessel big enough among his wares. Even that was a bit tight. _I’ll need something larger within a month or two,_ Dorian told Bull, in a worried tone. _I’m sorry to trouble you, but my roots will become quite pot-bound otherwise, and—_

“Dorian. It’s fine. I get it.” He gently stroked the tree trunk. “It’s not that much trouble. We’re headed through the Free Marches. The city-states are all bigger than these little towns. We’ll find you a nice, roomy pot or basin or whatever you like. It won’t be that hard.”

In truth, it was a little inconvenient. And it was a little expensive. But Bull had already received all the reimbursement he needed—Dorian had been delighted with the change of scenery from the moment they left the stretch of road where he’d been stuck for so long. Each town was quaint and charming to him, and every disparaging thing he had to say was uttered in a tone of profound delight. It was… _cute_. That was a weird word to use for a talking tree that was a magister, but it was the best word Bull could come up with. Seeing Dorian happy for a change was fun, and the Vint’s efforts to pretend he wasn’t secretly delighted were cute.

And Dalish and Stitches had already come around and started chatting with him regularly, and Krem looked like he might start easing up a bit next, and it warmed Bull’s heart to see his boys making friends with the friendless Vint.

Just like that, they gradually meandered their way through the Free Marches—and the mercenary company known as The Bull’s Chargers gained a new reputation: “You’ll know it’s them by the leader with the horns and the wagon with a tree in it.”

\--

“Chargers, round up!”

This had become the recognized summons meaning “form a ring around the supply wagon,” which the Chargers promptly did. Bull emerged from his tent within a minute and joined the others.

“All right, here’s the deal. We’ve all heard the stories coming out of the South. Well, it looks like they’re true—most of them, anyway. Yes, there’s a Breach; no, it hasn’t swallowed Fereldan. It’s stable, but it _is_ a big-ass demon gate and a very big problem. Also: yes, they formed an Inquisition; no, it’s not run by blood mages. Yes, the Conclave exploded; all explanations of how or why are unconfirmed rumor; no one knows for sure. Yes, there’s a Herald of Andraste, or that’s what they’re calling her. Yes, she walked out of the Fade and survived the explosion and can do something weird with the Rifts that the Breach keeps causing. Yes, she’s an ex-rebel mage. Everything beyond _that_ is also rumor. Everybody clear?”

Krem gave a sharp nod. He, in particular, appreciated straightforward facts, especially when they helped put a lot of wild gossip to rest. Krem wasn’t a huge fan of unsubstantiated rumors. It had been his and Dorian’s first point of agreement.

“So. That’s the situation. It’s bad in the South—not gonna lie. But that’s where we’re going. This Inquisition needs all the help they can get. They’ve stated that their first and only goal right now is to seal that Breach, and the Chantry and everyone else is just arguing about it and fucking up. The Inquisition has almost no support from anyone right now, so that’s what we’re gonna go do—help out. Whatever they need—if they want us, we’re signing on for the foreseeable future. Any objections?”

There were none. Questions—definitely, lots. But no outright objections. Bull didn’t ask for questions. He’d handle those later, while they were on the road. Right now, they had to get moving.

In half a day they were on their way south. Bull, as usual, rode in the rear with the supply wagon while Krem led from the front. Dorian waited until the Chargers with the most urgent questions had all filtered through and gone away again before he commented to Bull, _This is a new direction. Rather sudden, too._

“What, going south? We’ve been south a few times. Before you joined us.”

_Not at all what I meant, and you know that I know what it means when you play ignorant._

Bull sighed. “You’re a damn perceptive lilac, you know that?”

_I should be, by now._

“All right, let’s have it.”

_We’ve been hearing rumors from Orlais for almost two weeks, and you never gave the slightest hint that we would turn our steps that way, or that you considered this a matter for us to handle. Now you’ve suddenly announced that we’re heading straight there to get as directly and entirely involved as we possibly can, in short order._

“Your point?”

_I sense a Ben-Hassrath order, that’s all._

“Good guess.”

_You know I keep track of when you get these. I’m working on pinpointing your dead drops._

“Wouldn’t expect any less from you, Dorian.”

_You asked about objections earlier._

“And you didn’t say anything.”

Dorian didn’t ask if it was his right to do so. Bull had already made it clear that even though Dorian wasn’t able to contribute as a Charger, his voice was still welcome.

_I have a question first._

“All right.”

_Do the Ben-Hassrath mean to interfere with the Inquisition or harm their efforts in any way?_

“Not right now.”

Dorian also didn’t ask about the future. He well knew that Bull didn’t get informed of future plans and didn’t make any himself. Everything was day by day, order by order.

_Do they truly intend to help?_

“They’re good with sending help,” Bull answered. “Which means they want to know what’s going on. They want information. They’re sending me to gather that, and they know that they’re sending me in a role of support and help, and they’re fine with that or they would have picked another agent.”

_Mm. Very well._

“So, your objection?”

 _If this is the case, then I have no objection after all._ Dorian rustlingly sighed. _Actually, I’m glad. Had I my human form and the agency it allowed me, I’d probably be heading in this direction myself. Given the situation we’ve been hearing about._

Bull glanced at the lilac tree. “Yeah? If you’d never got sick, you think you’d have gone down there to join the Inquisition?”

 _Don’t imagine we’d have been friends_ , Dorian answered with a laugh in his voice. _I might have slummed it with you for a night, but I’d have happily killed you the next day, given a good reason._

“Heh. It’s too late to get me to believe that, big guy. I know you can’t help softening to my charms.”

Dorian sighed, and in that smilingly sad tone, whispered, _When one is brought as low as this, one learns to be grateful for every scrap of friendship._

Bull gave him a look, reached over, and gently tugged one of his branches. “You’re talking like that again,” he grumbled.

_Yes, pardon me, I’ll stop._

With a narrow-eyed grin: “Who’s my favorite weird-ass talking lilac?”

 _That would be me,_ Dorian said, with the laughter back in his voice—where it fucking belonged.

\--

The Chargers joined the Inquisition. Dorian wasn’t present for that, because it happened on a beach that had lately been a battlefield, and Bull left him back at their camp when they were expecting a fight. Nothing easier than a stray flaming arrow or explosive flask or fire spell, and Dorian would be half-dead before anyone could put out the blaze. So he didn’t go into combat, and he wasn’t present at Bull’s first meeting with Herald of Andraste.

The magic tree-person was an important detail, however, and Bull made certain to bring it up with the Herald the first time she talked to him after they’d arrived at Haven.

“So, uh, Boss—this is Dorian.”

The Herald blinked at the lilac tree.

 _A pleasure_.

The Herald yelped and clutched her staff with both hands, eyes wide.

Bull cleared his throat. “Um, Dorian is actually a mage from Tevinter who joined the Chargers as kind of a…traveling companion, due to his condition. He transformed himself into a lilac tree because of…reasons.”

“…Reasons.”

“Important reasons.”

_I would take it exceedingly kindly if I were allowed to keep those to myself, Milady Herald, but I do also understand that, under the circumstances, my preference may not reasonable. You have every right to ask, if you must. I suppose it will be all over Haven soon, anyway._

“The Chargers promised not to say anything…” Bull told Dorian, in an effort to be reassuring.

 _We both know that won’t last beyond the first cask of ale_ , Dorian rustlingly sighed.

Eyes peeled wide, the Herald was examining Dorian. “You’re a mage who turned yourself into a tree?”

 _Quite so_.

“Whatever _for?_ ”

 _It was necessary_.

The little mage girl—five feet nothing, if she was that much—glanced between Dorian and Bull with a conflicted expression. “Um…well, normally I wouldn’t ask if you don’t want me to…but Leliana might want to know, and if she does, that’s final…and I mean, if it’s going to get around anyway, I’d rather hear it directly from those concerned. I _really hate_ rumors!”

Bull noticed Krem, who was standing nearby, glance their way and smile slightly, hearing this.

For his part, Dorian agreed, and Bull hung around but didn’t interject as Dorian explained his situation. The Herald immediately understood his wish for privacy on the subject—those who had _Hanahaki_ were universally known for not wanting to tell anyone about it. Bull had noticed the pattern, though he wasn’t too clear on why. People seemed embarrassed by this disease, for some reason. It didn’t make a lot of sense to Bull.

“So, but really, you _really really_ can’t do anything in this form? You can’t do spells or talk to demons or move around on your own, even?” The Herald chewed her lip nervously.

_I retained the ability to revert to human form, but as far as casting new magic in this form, that would be extremely difficult. While a staff is only necessary for more difficult spells, usually—as I’m sure you are well aware—in this form, I would absolutely need a focus, and I have no staff. The best I could probably do would be to utilize one of my own branches, but the passage of magic through it would essentially mean sacrificing the branch. So, to simplify things, how much magic could **you** do if it meant chopping off your own leg to accomplish it?_

“Mm.” She nodded. She didn’t look even mildly comforted. “But the _demons._ What about that?”

Another rustling sigh, despite the lack of wind. _I haven’t spoken with a demon since my Harrowing. They aren’t the most enthralling conversationalists._ Suddenly, with a burst of shaking that Bull recognized as Dorian’s suppressed laughter—but which startled the Herald—he added, _Though they certainly try to be._

Bull snorted—first time he’d ever laughed at a demon joke, _Weird_. The Herald took a minute longer, blinking blankly. Finally, she got it. “Ahhh…”

Clearing his throat, Bull spoke up. “If it counts for anything, Boss, I’ve known him for about a year now, and what you see is what you get. No demons, no tricks. Just a talking lilac. I guess if we ever find a cure for…what he has, then you’d have a Vint mage to deal with instead. If that’s a problem…”

“No, not a _problem_ , exactly,” she interrupted. “Just a different situation. I guess…um,” she studied Dorian. “Well, I can’t speak for Cullen and Leliana, but as far as I’m concerned we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 _I would not dream of asking for anything beyond that_.

Bull smiled. “Thanks, Boss.”

The little Herald nodded, her expression still a bit clouded. “So do you wanna stay here? I mean, I was just thinking, being near the recruits’ camp, I guess you’re safe enough with the Chargers, but the rest of the recruits might be a bit…”

“We can look out for him, Boss,” Bull reassured her.

“Well, sure, when you’re _here_ ,” she said, “but what about during missions? Shouldn’t we maybe take him into Haven, set him up out of the way somewhere?”

Dorian spoke up: _As much as I appreciate the Chargers, Iron Bull, somewhere a little sheltered from this freezing wind would be wonderful. Particularly as I am not planted in the ground._

Bull had to admit this much. He didn’t know shit about gardening and plants, but Dorian had already “discussed” his dislike of the cold at considerable length. The Herald had a suggestion:

“Since he’s in a pot already, if you can put together a makeshift sled or something to drag him, there’s probably room in the apothecary.”

\--

“Adan, this is Dorian Pavus, a mage who turned into a lilac.”

The bearded healer glanced up from a stack of notes, gave the new addition to his room a once-over, and grunted, “Eh-heh,” and went back to his work.

“A transformation spell, I take it?”

If Bull had been less well-trained, he’d have jumped at the mild voice from the door. An elf stood there, investigating the new arrival.

 _Quite so_ , Dorian answered.

The elf blinked in surprise. “You can still speak?”

 _Ingenious, isn’t it?_ Dorian’s voice glowed with pride.

“It is certainly fascinating. What form of magic did you base this spell in, if I may ask?”

“Sorry, excuse me,” the Herald interrupted. “Dorian, if you’re good here, I have…stuff. Lots of it,” she sighed.

_I am considerably warmer already, thank you. If I could just trouble someone to push me into that patch of sunlight by the window…_

“I got it Boss,” Bull offered, “go do your thing.”

“Need help, Chief?”

“Nah, you can head back, Krem.” His lieutenant nodded and accepted the dismissal, leaving along with the Herald and, as Bull had suspected, escorting her at least part of the way back through Haven. Bull smiled and scooted Dorian’s huge pot along the floor toward the window.

 _…not actually based in any of the disciplines_ , Dorian was saying to the elf. _Ah, thank you, Bull, that’s better._

“Indeed? Then how did you frame the spell?”

 _It’s based on an independent, pre-existing magical condition…_ Dorian sighed in his rustling way. _And I suppose you’ll hear about it soon or later, so I might as well tell you now. This is the result of altering the magical effects of Hanahaki disease._

The elf’s eyes widened. “That is…remarkable. I have never heard of anyone dealing with that disease in such a way. Do you think you could describe the spell in detail?”

 _Certainly the essence of it,_ Dorian agreed, still sounding pleased, _though a few of the smaller details, such as my present ability to speak, I’m not able to clearly recall. I was struggling to maintain consciousness when I created the spell and cast it._

“I see.”

“Hey, big guy, you good? I’m gonna head out.”

_Yes, thank you. As always, Bull, feel free to drop by any time._

“Sure.” He smiled. “You two have fun.” The elf nodded to him, a bit coldly, and returned to discussing weird mage crap with Dorian. Bull was happy with that—he already knew from experience that Dorian loved talking about magic. He’d exhausted the topic with Dalish, and had ended up rambling about it to Bull on more than one occasion—even though Bull had no idea what he was talking about. He was glad that now Dorian had a chance to be around a few more people who shared his interests.

\--

For a fledgling organization set up in a town-turned-half-camp, the Inquisition was doing all right in Haven. Bull went on missions with the Herald sometimes, the Chargers made themselves useful, and Dorian was safe even when Bull wasn’t around. The elf, Solas, watched out for him. He didn’t like Bull at all—apparently it was the Qunari thing—but Bull didn’t care about that. As long as he was good company for Dorian, that was all that mattered.

The dwarf, Varric, hung around Dorian for a while too—at least until he’d finished taking notes.

Cassandra and Cullen both gave him a stern examination to be sure he wasn’t a demon. They didn’t pay much attention to him after that, but then, they were both pretty busy.

Most of the other noteworthy members of the Inquisition avoided him or ignored him, either afraid or disinterested. The Herald herself made time occasionally to visit Dorian, despite being busy. She seemed to feel that checking up on everyone was the bulk of her job. She never failed to stop and talk to Krem when she visited Bull, so he wasn’t surprised she made time to talk to Dorian whenever she was in the apothecary.

Then they got the mages together and sealed the Breach, and all of Haven turned out for the party. Bull offered to drag Dorian to the door, at least, so he could watch, but Dorian declined. _I appreciate it, but it’s rather tragic to be stuck watching others dance, don’t you think?_

Solas had disappeared somewhere and Adan was down by the bonfire, drunk, so Bull shrugged and hung out in the apothecary with Dorian. “I dunno. When they’re shitfaced like this, it can be funnier to just sit back and watch. Get involved and you’ll just get stepped on. Or worse, puked on—but it’s a little early for that.”

Dorian laughed leafily. _Just the same, I’m tolerably well where I am. You needn’t strain your leg on my account._

Bull would argue that it was no trouble—but they’d been through all that ages ago. Dorian and Krem were both united in their fussiness over Bull’s bad leg. So instead, Bull sank down into a chair with a sigh and took a drink. “Damn, it’s good to have that creepy thing fixed.”

 _Well done._ They were quiet for a little bit. Then: _Are you going to pass the whole celebration here?_

“Not scheduled to be anywhere else.”

_Surely some jubilant lad or lass would want to celebrate with you…_

Bull just shrugged. It was true. But he didn’t care.

 _Shall I talk you to an orgasm?_ Dorian offered. _It has been a while, hasn’t it?_

It had. They’d done that a few times, but mostly before coming to Haven. Bull had been a little busy lately. “You want to?” he asked, a little curious.

_I offered, didn’t I?_

He nodded thoughtfully. “Thought you didn’t get anything out of it, though.”

 _I don’t. That is…_ Dorian hesitated.

“Hmm?”

 _I don’t get anything sexual out of it,_ he finally said.

Bull turned to look directly at Dorian—once again regretting that all he could see was a tree. Sometimes—times like these—he really wished he could look over and see the young man Dorian actually _was_. Study him, watch him… _discover_ him. “You get something else out of it?” he asked, simply.

There was the slightest pause, and then the tone Dorian answered in gave Bull the eerie feeling that Dorian was avoiding eye contact—or would be, if he had eyes. _Well. **You** like it, don’t you?_

“Yeah. I like it. It’s fun.”

 _So._ It was like he could almost _hear_ a one-shouldered shrug in that syllable. _I enjoy seeing you happy,_ Dorian said.

Slowly, Bull filled his lungs, let the breath out, and smiled. “And you give me shit when I call you sweet.”

 _I’m attempting to discourage your more saccharine inclinations_ , Dorian huffed, _for the sake of general sanity. It can be rather damaging to one’s mental health to see a heavily scarred warrior knit a pink tree skirt._

“What’s wrong with your tree skirt, and what’s that got to do with you being a sweet guy?” Bull asked, blinking in surprise.

 _Oh, Maker…_ Dorian began.

But before he could say another word, the alarm bell began to ring.

\--

The second that fucked-up Blighted dragon showed up and made its first fire-breathing pass over Haven, Bull started fighting his way back to the apothecary.

It was on fire by the time he got there.

With the cold, emotionless speed and precision of raw desperation, Bull kicked the door in and swung the butt end of his axe into Dorian’s pot, shattering it. Then he grabbed Dorian by the base of the trunk and pulled him out of there. Most of the soil remained with the pot, and Bull could feel the thinner roots tear—even if he couldn’t, Dorian’s cries of pain were hard to miss. But even with how strong Bull was, there was just no way he could lift that huge ceramic pot and the massive amount of soil in it _and_ the whole tree growing there. Even as it was, Dorian’s roots clung to a lot of soil, making him really damn heavy.

“You good?” _Kadan_ —it almost slipped out, then.

A raspy, pained gasp. _Alive. Which, until a moment ago—well. I shan’t complain._

“Not a good sign,” Bull grunted, shaking out Dorian’s tree skirt and laying it on the ground. He set Dorian in the center of it and tried his best to gather his roots together and tie them up, but he had little more than seconds to work with. Almost everyone was already inside the Chantry. Lugging Dorian, Bull was the last person through the doors—just in time to hear the tail end of the Herald’s plan to act as bait—and bury Haven with an avalanche.

The back path out of the Chantry started with a pretty narrow door and led through an even narrower passage. Bull had to turn sideways to get his horns through. Dorian’s pot never would have fit.

Once out, he strapped Dorian to his back and picked up two kids, one in each arm, and started climbing. The going was tough—and then they hit the blizzard.

 _Iron Bull_. The voice was soft, tense, and right by his ear.

“Nngh?”

_Iron Bull, you cannot carry a tree up a mountain through a blizzard. You’re going to kill yourself._

“Be fine,” he grunted, shifting the kids in his arms. One looked up at him with wide eyes; the other sniffled and fussed into the blanket wrapped around them.

_Iron Bull, you need to put me down._

“Not gonna happen, Dorian.”

_Vishante kaffas, Bull—_

“Little ears, big guy.”

_Damn you, I don’t care! Don’t be such an insufferable, pig-headed—_

__“Bull-headed.”

Dorian’s voice went silent for a moment in a way that felt like a long, indrawn breath, even though Dorian didn’t have lungs anymore and that was the whole point of being a tree. Then, slowly: _If you’re going to be this way, I am always capable of changing my form back._

Bull very carefully did _not_ let his muscles tighten. He had kids in his arms. “Don’t.”

_I doubt I’d even have to wait for suffocation, in this cold…_

“I’d still carry you up this fucking mountain, so don’t even think about it!”

The listening child gaped at him, and even the sniffling one looked up, blinking in confusion.

… _Little ears, Bull_.

“…Asshole.” _Kadan._

 _You cannot kill yourself trying to save a corpse, Bull. Even you aren’t that stupid. Put me down. I won’t die immediately. If the Maker smiles upon this Inquisition, you’ll escape to some safe place and have a chance to come back for me before I perish_.

“Nice try,” Bull grunted.

_As a tree—_

__“Think I haven’t learned a thing or two, listening to you? Planted in the ground, you’d be good—maybe. Above ground, in this? You’d freeze in a couple hours. So shut up. Human or tree, I’m not putting you down on this fu—on this mountain.”

Thankfully, Dorian stopped arguing. Bull waited a while, wondering if he really would hear a spell go off and suddenly find himself with an extremely sick man on his back, but nothing happened. So he just kept going.

\--

Bull handed the kids off to their parents as they started to set up camp, but he kept Dorian with him. “Still there, big guy?”

_Mmm._

The voice sounded weak. More than that, Dorian didn’t use several long words. That was worrying.

“Hang in there, Dorian. The Chargers are getting a fire going.”

Faintly: _That might…prevent any more of my roots freezing…at least._ Yet when the fire was made, Dorian protested in a whimper, begging to be kept further away from it. In his muddled speech, Bull understood that it was as easy for him to scorch as to freeze. And he was a tree, after all. Fire wasn’t good.

So Bull pulled together a couple more blankets, draped the smaller one over his own back, and wrapped Dorian’s root ball in the bigger one and sat down by the fire—not as near as he would have liked, and upwind to avoid the sparks. He set Dorian’s root ball in his lap and wrapped his arms and legs around it in an effort to warm up the roots as gently as possible. Snow gathered on Dorian’s leaves, melted gradually from the nearby fire, and began to drip steadily on Bull’s head and face, where it froze in the wind. He rubbed the ice off his skin, but by morning, his horns were heavy with icicles. Bull ignored that. He tried to keep Dorian talking, but the last words he got were, _Really can’t anymore…don’t have the energy…I’m alive, never fear. Merely…need to hibernate._

Dorian said no more after that.

\--

Finding the Herald and setting out northward did nothing to relieve Bull’s tension and fear. He’d kept Dorian as warm as he could, but the guy still hadn’t said a word. On the journey, Krem grumbled at him: “He’s _dead_ , Chief. Put him down.”

“He’s hibernating,” Bull growled.

Krem sighed and shook his head. “You’re going to kill yourself, lugging a tree around the Frostback Mountains like this.

“I’m fine.” He gave no more answer than that.

“Let’s say he’s alive.” Krem studied him with a flat look. “You still remember he’s in love with somebody else, right?”

Bull just grunted. He was sick of having this fight with Krem, and he was too tired right now to get into it all again.

Then they found Skyhold.

Miraculously, within this huge, abandoned fortress, conditions were better. The walls blocked the wind, the sun shone down, and Bull discovered, with a swing of his axe, that the ground wasn’t frozen. There was a layer of frost in the shadows and snow gathered in the shade, but he found a patch of ground in the courtyard, not far from an old well, that was sunny and soft enough to dig.

 _That_ would protect Dorian. That was the only thing Bull could think to do to help him. Not much of his soil had survived the trek up the mountain, anyway.

Bull sent the Chargers to help the people of the Inquisition and went searching for a shovel. Sera was the one to find him one, as she scampered all over the place, exploring.

Bull dug the hole himself, and planted Dorian in Skyhold, and watered him plenty…and then went and found Solas and asked him if there was some magic way to know whether Dorian was alive or dead. He had to endure a cold, unfriendly look, but Solas answered, “The spell is based in a disease that will cease to exist if he dies. Therefore, as long as you continue to see a tree, he is alive. When he turns into a human corpse—well.”

So Bull waited, comforting himself with these words every time he glanced down through the courtyard and saw a battered-looking lilac tree still standing in the sun—or in the moonlight. Especially in the moonlight, actually, because the days were packed with work, settling the Inquisition into Skyhold. It was only at night, before bed, that Bull had enough time to stop and lean on the stone wall and look down for a while, reassuring himself with the sight of a moonlit lilac tree who wasn’t talking to him anymore. But it was a damn sight better than seeing a young man lying there dead on the ground. The idea made Bull feel sick.

“He doesn’t bloom as much as he used to.”

Bull blinked and turned his head to look at Krem. “You noticed?”

Krem nodded. “He used to be purple blossoms all over, back when we first took him with us. He still has a few, but not that many.”

Bull shrugged. “It’s out of season for flowering, now.”

“Maybe.”

They were silent for a minute. Bull noted the silence, and the fact that Krem had stopped to stand here with him, watching over Dorian. “What’s on your mind, Krem de la Crème?” he finally asked.

Krem turned to eye him in that flat way he had. “Just wondering when you’re going to tell him you’re in love with him.”

Bull snorted. “You little asshole.”

“I’m serious, Chief. It’s plain as day. Understandable, you keeping quiet until now. But how else are you going to explain why you damn near killed yourself getting him out of Haven?”

Something stuck in Bull’s throat. He didn’t reply immediately. The best thing he could come up with, after a minute, was, “Qunari don’t do romance. You know that. _He_ knows that, he’s a Vint.”

A one-shouldered shrug. “If you don’t like calling it that, fine. But you still love him.”

“Yeah?” Bull frowned. “How do you know?”

“We just know, Chief. We know what it looks like. It’s been obvious for a while.”

“Not obvious to me,” Bull remarked.

“That’s because you think you like everyone the same. The only thing that makes one bond stronger than another for you is time and trust. You never fucking had a clue just where you stood with me from the day we met, because of what you did. Shit like that is just what you do.”

“Right.” Bull stared down at the moon-silvered lilac tree, the unloved little altus—one of his best friends. “So what does love feel like?”

“Dunno,” Krem hummed. “Never had it that bad.” Then: “Ask Rocky.”

Bull thought. “Don’t think I have to. Rocky always says it feels like indigestion.”

“Then ask Dalish. Dalish puts up with you best.”

“Dalish says it feels like the Fade hiccupping. Not that helpful.” In fact, Bull had heard a lot of different descriptions, both from the Chargers and from various others. He had a whole catalogue of different things love felt like—none of which felt like they fit him.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Krem turned to face him and leaned against the stonework. “All right. Let me ask you: If he wakes up tomorrow morning and then that altus he’s in love with walks into Skyhold and falls down on his knees in front of Dorian and apologizes for everything and swears he’ll love him forever and marry him or whatever he wants, and Dorian turns back into a human and his disease is gone and he and that guy live happily ever after, how would you feel?”

Bull blinked, picturing all this. “…Good. Great. I mean, I’d be happy for him.”

“No,” Krem pointed at him, “that’s what you would _think_. How would you _feel?_ ”

“I’d feel…glad that Dorian is alive. And happy to finally meet him as a human. And he’d be able to do magic again and read books, and all the other things he misses doing, so that’s good too.”

“No, how would _you feel?_ Not for his sake. How would _you_ feel about Dorian being with that other guy?”

Clearly, Bull was missing the point—so he carefully pictured it again. His imaginary vision of what Dorian looked like. Some other Vint beside him. Touching him. Dorian looking at him, failing to notice those around them—like Bull had seen lovestruck people do.

Something really weird and nasty twisted in his gut. “Ugh,” Bull grunted. _Where did that come from?_

“Picturing it?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel, right now?”

“…Kind of sick.”

“There you go.”

Bull blinked. “Where?”

Krem gave him a pointed look. “Indigestion.”

“Oh.” Bull blinked. Thought about it. “Rocky was right?”

Krem just hummed an affirmative. Then: “Gonna tell him?”

He considered for a while. “Probably not,” Bull finally concluded. “If he wakes up again and he’s all right…I don’t think he’ll want to hear that kind of thing from me. Not when he’s got _Hanahaki_ because of that other Vint.” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t have magic, so I can’t get the magic flower disease and die from this. So there’s no reason I need to make things awkward or make him feel bad or anything like that.”

In a slightly odd tone, Krem said, “It’s better just to remain friends.”

“Yeah.”

“You can deal with it.”

“Sure I can.”

“You don’t want to risk ruining your friendship with these feelings.”

“Yeah…how’d you know that?”

Krem snorted, and for a second Bull almost detected a smile. “I have great powers of insight,” he answered flatly. “I can read a script.”

Bull narrowed his eye. “What does that mean?”

“Goodnight, Chief.” Krem turned and left.

Bull stared down at Dorian a little longer, grumbling under his breath, “Vints.” Why did all the best things in his life come from Tevinter?

\--

About two weeks after their arrival in Skyhold, there was a huge ruckus in the courtyard. Everyone ran out to look, including Bull, though he didn’t _run_ , and it turned out Sera had “decorated” the local talking lilac with a whole collection of britches and smallclothes. This was totally expected from Sera; what _wasn’t_ expected was the sound of Dorian’s voice absolutely bellowing at her, threatening all kinds of horrifying magical retribution. Blackwall was laughing his ass off and refusing to rescue Dorian, Varric was taking notes, and Her Ladyship the Inquisitor herself was carrying the bag from which Sera pulled more stolen undergarments to drape over Dorian’s branches.

Bull’s face broke into a huge grin. Dorian was alive, he was awake—he was _back_. Bull dropped the crate he had been carrying—he was _just_ considerate enough to at least put it down out of everyone else’s way—and began to hurry down to the lower courtyard.

“What is the meaning of all this noise!?”

Cassandra stormed up, sword brandished—probably because she couldn’t see what was going on through the gathered crowd of onlookers and thought some kind of riot was happening. When she saw Dorian decked with smalls, she froze, her expression furious—but Bull, who had been categorizing Cassandra’s angry faces, knew she was actually just baffled.

Sera didn’t know better, however, and with a giggle and a squeal of “Shit! Run for it!” she and the Inquisitor took off, the last few pairs of smalls forming a trail behind them.

Bull chuckled and went to rescue Dorian.

“Dorian!” _Kadan!_ “You alive, big guy?”

_Iron Bull! I am delighted to see you alive. Would you be so good as to get these undignified garments **off my branches**? And I could use a bit of water. And…where are we?_

Bull grinned and held back from giving Dorian a giant, crushing hug, which really would not have been good for his fragile branches. His heart thudded hard and fast in his chest, and the sound of Dorian’s voice made him happy to the tips of his horns.

He picked up the discarded sack the Inquisitor had dropped, and began to explain how they had found Skyhold, the Herald’s promotion to Inquisitor, and Corypheus—everything Dorian had missed in the last couple weeks. Dorian peppered him with questions until Bull had him all caught up. Then he reverted to complaints—Sera being first on his list.

_If I had my own legs right now, she’d never escape me! I’d turn her plaidweave into yellow leeches!_

“Ouch,” Bull grinned, gently disentangling a pair of smalls from Dorian’s branches.

 _She’s the one who picked a pantaloon fight with an enchanter!_ Dorian snapped.

“Yellow leeches?” Bull didn’t jump. He managed to just turn his head—only slightly quicker than usual—to see who had spoken. It was the damn-near silent and invisible Solas, as usual. He was almost as bad as Cole. He had apparently wandered up in the wake of the fracas to observe the aftermath. “I’ll have to remember that,” he murmured, smiling, “for the next time she presents me with lizards in my bedroll.”

 _It’s not at all a difficult spell_ , Dorian answered, his tone switching quickly to his “excited about magic” voice rather than his “furiously indignant” one.

“Indeed?”

 _Oh yes,_ Dorian answered, and he rattled off something Bull couldn’t begin to understand. Solas nodded, listening, and finally smiled again when Dorian finished and began to wander silently off.

“Thank you. I will remember. And welcome back. It is gratifying to see you have recovered.”

 _Any time!_ Dorian called, then, in a lower tone: _Don’t you dare tell Sera I gave him that one. He has legs and a staff and can protect himself, unlike some of us._

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Using other mages to get your revenge? Clever.”

_Not ‘using.’ Enabling their own revenge, perhaps. She brings this entirely upon herself._

“It just means she likes you. She’s glad you’re back.”

_Ha!_

“Seriously. She’s decided you’re safe, or she’d keep avoiding you like the Blight.” Bull finished rescuing Dorian from the last offensive garment and neatly folded it before putting it back in the sack. He was going to have to set up an underwear redistribution station in the tavern later. “I’m glad you’re back, too,” he added in a slight mumble, half-thinking about how he was going to keep people from claiming smalls that weren’t their own.

 _Naturally_ , Dorian tree-preened. _I don’t know how you managed these last few weeks without me. You must have been pining in misery, really_.

Bull’s stomach did that nasty little indigestion-like twist, and he forced a cheerful smile. “Nah, I’ve been good. Haven’t had a lot of time to myself.” Except evenings, before bed, when he stood leaning on the wall and looking down here and…funny how some lies were a lot harder to tell than others.

_And no time to improve your manners either, I see. Would it be such a great injury to your threatening warrior image to admit that you missed me?_

“You didn’t miss me,” Bull observed, as an evasion.

_True, but I was unconscious and oblivious to the passage of time._

__“Excuses, excuses,” Bull teased, dodging the subject again. “You good here? I want to take this sack over to Krem and ask him to supervise the clothing redistribution.”

_Oh, of course, don’t mind me. Say hello to the Chargers for me._

“They’ll probably come by themselves when they hear you’re awake,” Bull answered, “but I will anyway. I’ll talk to you again later, after dinner.”

_I thought you said they established a new tavern here?_

“…Yeah, they did. But drinks can travel.” He turned to go before Dorian could ask any other uncomfortable questions. “Later, Dorian!”

 _I’ll be here_ , Dorian said, as he always did.

It was funny. He used to sound so sad when he said that. He didn’t sound sad anymore—but _hearing_ those words made Bull _feel_ sad, and he had no idea how to fix it.

\--

When Bull returned that night, that weird new kid was there, saying something quietly. As Bull came close enough to hear: “…wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful…” Cole was staring up at Dorian with his head on one side.

_Well, **honestly** —_

“You can come out now, Dorian.”

 _This is considerably more personal than I usually allow with new acquaintan—oh, kaffas, where did he go?_ The kid vanished as Bull walked up. _Who in the world was that?_ Dorian asked him.

“Cole. You’ll get used to him,” Bull said. “Solas says he’s a spirit of compassion, not a demon, so.”

 _Oh, he’s no demon,_ Dorian agreed, instantly reassuring Bull and banishing a lingering discomfort he’d been living with since the kid showed up. Dorian would know, and Dorian wouldn’t lie about that to him. _But a spirit of compassion? How rare._

“What was he talking about?”

Dorian didn’t answer immediately. Then: _Oh, he was very cryptic. I suspect people have difficulty understanding him._

“Sure. But usually the person he’s talking to has an idea.”

 _Good for them_ , Dorian said, in a breezier-than-usual tone. _But enough of that. Tell me more about this Corypheus. What has the Inquisition been able to learn?_

So Bull sat and drank and answered whatever questions he could with the information he had, and Dorian bemoaned his inability to effectively conduct research. He was intensely curious about this ancient magister. Bull wished Dorian could contribute as well—he would be much happier if he could be of use. Everyone was happier when they felt useful.

But in the meantime, just having Dorian alive and back and talking to him again took away an unpleasant emptiness Bull had been feeling lately.

“Hey.”

_Mm?_

“Tell me again about what you looked like.”

_In my human form?_

“Yeah.”

There was a slight pause. _I know it’s late, but isn’t this location a little public, even for you?_

“Eh? …Oh.” Bull chuckled. “I didn’t mean for sex. Just wanted to try picturing you again.”

_Use your eyes; I’m right here._

Bull gazed at the lilac tree. “Sure. But…I dunno. I never feel like I’m looking at you when I look at the tree. I feel like I’m looking at something that’s got you inside it.”

_If we want to get philosophical, you could argue that all bodies are like that._

“Heh.” Bull grinned and swallowed his drink. “Got me there.” After a moment, he added, “What color were your eyes?”

_Haven’t I said?_

“Nope.”

 _Oh. Well, they were grey, which meant they rather tended to pick up the color of the light, or so I’m told_.

“Huh.”

_What?_

“Nothing. From the way you described your complexion, I figured brown or black.”

 _It’s my mother’s side of the family,_ Dorian answered. _There are always a few grey-eyed ones in every generation. My uncle, my grandmother…_

Bull listened as Dorian rattled off a few relatives, and he pictured the dark-skinned, dark-haired young man he imagined—with clear and captivating grey eyes, lively with energy and ideas, quick to flash with temper. Something sort of wrenched in Bull’s chest, and he smiled, a little sadly, and sighed with resignation. He was starting to recognize this feeling, and he figured he’d better get used to it.

_What’s the matter?_

Leaning over, Bull patted Dorian’s trunk. “Nothing, big guy. Keep going. Sorry to interrupt.”

 _I hate to disappoint, but I have nothing further to say on the subject of my eyes_ , Dorian said, unfortunately. _Instead, I wonder if you could enlighten me on something else._

“Sure, shoot.”

There was a slight pause. _Cremisius stopped by earlier to convey his greetings…_

“Good. Told you he would.”

_Yes, quite. However, he also conveyed some details about our journey here to Skyhold—details you had downplayed considerably, and a few you had neglected to mention at all._

Without betraying anything by even the slightest tic, Bull considered this and answered, “Yeah, well, keep in mind Krem can exaggerate.”

_He said you practically killed yourself trying to save me._

Stomach twisting nervously, Bull said, “See? Told you. He’s got a secret flair for drama. I guess all you Vints do.”

_He also said you stood on the ramparts every night these last two weeks, watching over me._

Bull’s grip around the flask tightened slightly.

_…Did you?_

Clearing his throat: “Uh, yeah. That one’s true.”

_Why did you?_

Bull felt like he was facing a behemoth and didn’t have enough clearance to swing his axe. In short—an overwhelming compulsion to _back up._ Hopefully he wasn’t backed into a corner yet. Evasion was easy, second nature. “Don’t read too much into it, big guy. I was just checking up on you while I had a nightcap. Not a big deal.”

A smile entered Dorian’s voice when he spoke again. _I thought you were supposed to be a **good** liar._

Wounded, Bull glanced at him. “Hey!”

Still audibly smiling: _Need I spell it out? If it truly were not important, you would not feel the need to specify. I believe you would have said something along the lines of ‘Yeah. So?’_

Damn, Dorian knew him too well, Bull thought, inwardly cringing. “What’s your point?” he grunted. “Going to ask me how often I watered you, next? Because it was only a few times. Blackwall offered to help out with that.”

_I am aware. No, I think I’ve asked enough. I think Cremisius was right._

Bull eyed the lilac tree. “Usually is. What about?”

But Dorian didn’t offer a verbose explanation, as Bull expected. Instead, he simply answered, _Don’t panic_.

As Bull was beginning to frown in wary curiosity, there was a sudden, distinctly magical _pop_ that resembled the way glyphs went off on the battlefield, and in that moment, he was no longer sitting beside a lilac tree and somewhat under it.

There was no more tree. Just a very naked man dropping into his lap with a startled yelp.

Somehow, Bull managed to catch the man without losing his flask, but it was a near thing.

“Maker, I seem to have lost my mastery of the art of standing upright on legs,” the man exclaimed…in Dorian’s voice. Even as he was speaking, Cole appeared out of nowhere, startling Bull _again_ , and draped a large, heavy cloak around the naked young man. Then Cole disappeared, even as the young man said, “Oh, Cole, thank y—oh, never mind. Well!” And he beamed at Bull and settled himself comfortably in Bull’s lap. “This isn’t so bad, actually. Apart from the cold, but I’m somewhat inured to that by now, and you are _exceedingly_ warm.”

Bull was frozen stiff. He didn’t even dare to wrap his arms around the person in his lap—comfortable and nice as that would have been, because the guy felt like he’d fit pretty damn perfectly into Bull’s arms. He just held still, blinked, and finally managed, very slowly: “What is going on?”

A pair of moonlit grey eyes in a dark-skinned, handsome face sparkled at him in amusement. “Oh, Bull. We are in _love_ , you great lummox, which means there’s no more disease and thus no more need to remain as a tree.” He filled his lungs and sighed. “Maker, it’s good to breathe again!”

This was a lot to take in at once. Bull had a method for times like these—start with the first thing, and don’t rush. So, cautiously, he said, “…Dorian?”

The young man _laughed_ —and it was an extremely nice sound. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently _Syringa vulgaris_ , honorary Charger assisting the Inquisition. Hopefully in a more meaningful capacity, from now on,” he added.

So. That was one answer. This was Dorian.

This was _Dorian._ He was… _Damn_ , Bull thought. _My imagination wasn’t up to it this time._ Bull took a deep breath, which reminded him: “Uh. You can breathe?”

“Quite so,” Dorian answered cheerfully, looping bare arms around his neck. “Because you love me in return.”

That was a big step forward that Bull wasn’t totally ready for, yet. “…What?”

Dorian chuckled. “Well, you said Cremisius is usually right, and so he was. You are in love with me—I should know, I’d be dying at present if you weren’t.”

“…What?” Bull was used to Dorian talking a _lot_ , but right now he just wasn’t keeping up very well.

“Naturally,” Dorian declared. “I fell in love with you…oh, I’m not certain when. The change took place over a space of time, I think, but I have been entirely in love with you for quite a while now. But of course I remained a lilac, because as long as you did not reciprocate, I would have still been in the same condition if I returned to this form.” He frowned. “I had been wondering, lately, if your feelings might be nearer to matching my own than you were letting on, but with my life at stake I wasn’t quite confident enough to risk it. I was rather hoping you would assist me by saying something, but then, as your lieutenant pointed out, that was probably too much to ask.”

A part of Bull’s mind picked up on the fact that Krem was involved in this, somehow, and he would have to deal with that later. But the more important point at the moment, the thing that had made the rest of Dorian’s explanation sort of fade out, was: “You’re in love with me?”

“Oh yes! I _adore_ you.” He smiled beautifully. “Surprised? Not nearly so surprised as I was when I realized I no longer gave two figs for Rilienus, whether alive, dead, prosperous, or miserable. And to fall in love with a Qunari brute, of all things! I ought to be terribly embarrassed. Oh, the shame,” he sighed.

Bull felt a smile creeping over his face, mostly because he knew that dramatic tone, but he had never seen the eye-rolling expression that went with it…except in his imagination. And this, it turned out, he’d imagined exactly right. “But you’re not?” he checked. He didn’t think so, but it was important to make sure.

“No indeed!” Dorian answered. “First of all, I took into consideration the effect this will have on my father—a perfectly delightful idea. And then, well…” His beautiful eyes softened. “I see nothing to be ashamed of. You are the man who cared for me in an intolerable situation, when I was nothing but a burden to you. You saved my life at least twice. Thus, between these considerations and your rather lowbrow sense of humor…and fashion…and your profession, and your hobbies, and…”

Bull grunted. “All right, all right. Talking yourself out of it now? Or you just want to take a couple free shots at me while I can’t shoot back?”

Dorian laughed again—a wonderful sound. “Shoot back all you like. I can take it.”

Shaking his head, Bull stared at the guy in his arms. He couldn’t think of a single thing to criticize. He knew, objectively, that Dorian was by no means a perfect person; he had pointed the guy’s flaws out to him before, in many conversations. But right now… “Maybe later, Kadan.” _Yeah, that was it._ That was the only thing Bull wanted to say—the word that had been aching inside him for a while.

Dorian leaned closer; Bull’s heart thudded in his chest. “ _Amatus_ ,” he said—and that was all he said. Maybe, like Bull, it was all he needed to say.

\--

**Epilogue**

****Rain pouring down all around him as he looked down the rocky slope to the distant beach, Bull blew the horn for a retreat with a full blast from his great, big lungs. He barely even waited for the boss to give him a quick, firm nod.

It would have been the same, either way—probably. But with his _Kadan_ down there? No question.

Because Dorian was fighting with them today, though not as one of the Inquisitor’s companions. He did that sometimes too, but today he was a Charger—no more “honorary,” a full Charger—and Bull knew how he fought, how he threw himself into the front ranks, even though he was a mage. If Bull let those Vints get any closer, Dorian would be the first one to fall. He wouldn’t let his countrymen reach any of the other Chargers while he still lived.

So Bull blew the horn _fast_ , and his men fell back, Dorian covering their retreat the whole way. Bull grinned slightly. _That’s my Kadan_ , he thought, and Gatt cursed under his breath, and the Inquisitor grimaced, but it wasn’t like there was a snowflake’s chance on Seheron that she was going to sacrifice any of _her_ people either—not even for Corypheus’ head on a platter.

“In any case, it’s not as if you are left as directionless as…others who have left the Qun,” Dorian observed in their tent that night. His tone was light, but his eyes were occupied with his pack. “We simply carry on saving the world, yes? And if, in the course of time, you begin to seem inclined to attack those who do not deserve it, I’ll simply turn you into a tree, put you in a specially made carriage, and take care of you much the same way you did for me.”

Bull leaned back, easing his brace off. “Special carriage, huh?”

“Well. You cannot expect _me_ to be seen traveling around with a… _rustic_ supply wagon.”

Bull hummed. “What kind of tree?”

“Not a lilac, have no fear. I don’t think it would be possible, even with my magical genius.” He shook out his shirt contemplatively. “With your thick skull…walnut, perhaps?”

He grinned. “I guess I am more of a _hard wood._ ”

Dorian groaned with the groan that quavered a little because it was covering a laugh, and Bull chuckled and wrapped and arm around him and pulled him close.

After a few minutes of kissing, and once Dorian was comfortably straddling his lap, Bull said, “Thanks, Kadan. You’re still the sweetest guy I know.”

Dorian grumbled. “On second thought, I could never travel anywhere with a walnut tree, they’re much too large.”

“Mmm, I _am_ pretty—”

But Dorian shut him up there, and Bull was fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished publishing my fourth (dirty gay romance) novel, so now I have a chance to finish up a few other things I've had WIP-ing about for a while. ^_^ PS: I don't actually know how to use Twitter properly, but I'm @SalemSorted over there and it's a good place to check if you want to know about Things I Write. <3


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